Under the Mask
by Sergeant Hiddles
Summary: One-shots dealing with Loki's evolution from child prince to supervillian.
1. A Joke

"Do you ever tell the truth?" Thor growled in frustration as he wrenched the winged helmet from Loki's reluctantly yielding hand. "Or is it impossible for you to be honest, just once in your life?"

A shadow of anger passed over Loki's thin, pointed face, quickly melting away into the cunningly playful smirk to which he so often resorted as a mask over his turbulent emotions. "It was just a bit of fun, brother. I meant no harm."

Thor glared again at Loki, then carefully examined the helmet. "If you so much as scratched it-"

Loki assumed an injured air. "I am not so clumsy-"

"Don't interrupt me, Loki," Thor snapped. "I am in earnest. You think it a jest, but this helmet was given to me by my father-"

"My father as well," Loki muttered.

"-And it is no toy. If you steal it again, I will speak to him and you will regret your mischief."

"What will you tell him? That you left it in the stables again?" Loki retorted.

Thor grabbed his shoulder and shoved him against the wall. "Listen to me! Steal my helmet again, and you'll answer to Father instead of me."

Loki winced at Thor's vicelike grip, but remained silent, staring mischeviously at Thor with his bright green eyes. Thor released him as four other teenagers entered the room, three boys and a girl. One of the boys, Volstagg, who was rather fat and sported a shock of red, curly hair and the beginnings of a beard, laughed aloud as he saw Thor and Loki separating after what had clearly been an argument. "What did he do this time? Put spiders in your boots again?"

Loki stared hard at the golden floor, biting back a reply. It wouldn't do to defend himself; Thor's friends would mock him. They would forget him soon enough if he remained silent.

The girl, Sif, a fierce young maiden who prided herself on being physically equal to any boy of her size, glanced scornfully at Loki as Thor related how his brother had taken the helmet from the stables and placed it atop one of the statues adorning the palace courtyard.

"How did you find it?" Sif asked.

"I was passing through the courtyard, and I saw him slinking behind one of the columns, so I followed him and asked him what he was doing. Then I saw my helmet. I told him to take it down or I would tell Father."

"Foiled again, my friend!" The slender, fair-haired boy, Fandral, said, grinning. "Better watch out, or he really will tell King Odin."

Loki couldn't help himself. "I told you, it was a joke-"

Thor wheeled around and swung his fist at Loki, who jumped backwards to avoid the blow.

"Nice try, Silvertongue," said Volstagg, as he reached for a piece of fruit. "I'm famished. Let's go to the kitchens."

Thor's anger vaporized at the mention of food. "The kitchens! Good idea." He led his four friends from the room, and their footsteps echoed in the hallway as they ran in search of amusement.

Loki's hands were clenched so tightly that his fingernails drew blood. The crafty gleam vanished from his eyes, quickly replaced by brimming tears. He grabbed the helmet, which Thor had left forgotten on a table, and hurled it at the opposite wall. The helmet clanged as it struck and fell back to the floor. Loki backed into a corner and sank to the floor, his face in his thin hands, trying hard to stop the tears streaming down his pale cheeks. Why did they all laugh at him? What had he done to bring constant mockery and distrust upon himself?

A noise in the hallway jolted Loki out of his misery, and he leapt to his feet, searching for a place to hide. He squeezed himself under one of the couches as a guard appeared in the doorway. "King Odin requests your pres-" he began, then stopped, realizing the room was empty. "Prince Thor?" he called.

Loki held his breath as another guard appeared behind the first. "He's not in there?"

"See for yourself. I was told he was here."

The second guard looked inside. "He's left his helmet on the floor again. He must have just been here."

"Or maybe his brother took it," replied the first guard, entering the room to retrieve the helmet. "He's always stealing things."

Loki bit his lip in anger as the second guard agreed. "I don't know how Thor puts up with him. Must be a nuisance, with all his little tricks."

The two guards, after glancing around once more, left the room, and Loki crawled from his hiding place, burning with resentment. Why did everyone hate him?


	2. Frost Giant

I am a Frost Giant.

The burning words etched themselves into Loki's reeling mind like a searing brand. A Frost Giant. A Jotun. A monster.

The armory was dark and cool; no trace remained of the attack earlier that day. Loki strode inside, slamming the doors behind him. He had to be alone. He had to think.

Loki closed his eyes, his breath quickening as the too fresh memory of the ill-fated trip to Jotunheim flashed through his head. He could almost feel the icy grip of the Frost Giant on his hand, the spreading sensation of tingling cold that had spread through his body as his skin darkened to that horrible blue...

He raised his hand before his face. It was its normal wan color, no different, if not a little paler, than the hand of any other Asgardian. Loki clenched his fingers as he saw, in his mind's eye, the Frost Giant gripping his arm, the armor flying away as his skin donned that awful hue...

Loki remembered, painfully now, the words of the child Thor: "When I'm king, I'll hunt the monsters down and slay them all!" Odin had barely rebuked him for that remark, and he had known - Loki tightened his jaw at the thought - he had known even then what Loki was, that Thor was unwittingly pledging to kill his brother.

Monster... Thor had never desisted in his verbal abuse of the Frost Giants and had continuously vowed that, under his reign, they would either die or live in complete subservience to him. Loki had readily joined in with Thor and the others, cursing the Jotuns because it gave Thor, Sif, and the Warriors Three someone to look down upon besides Loki. Now every insult they had levelled at that hated race, every belittling description fixed itself on Loki as well - for he was a monster, hiding behind a thin facade that, as he had seen today, could so easily fade.

So much made sense now. No wonder Odin had favored Thor; who could expect him ever to place a Jotun on equal terms with his own son? All those years Odin had pretended that the throne could go to either of his sons - the boys he called his sons - but Loki had never had a chance, because he was of a foul race, a monster parents told their children about at night.

Loki slowly walked forward, hardly seeing the room around him. His moist green eyes stared with determination at the ancient relic centrally displayed in the armory: the casket taken from Jotunheim. I belong with these relics, Loki though bitterly. I was stolen from my home and taken here to rot, to sit in silence while others take all the glory.

Trembling with the knowledge of what was about to happen, Loki took the casket in both hands, lifting it from the pedestal. Almost instantly he felt the chill spreading through his fingers, over his wrists, up his arms, followed by that sickly blue...

A monster.


End file.
